Back view of a woman in white lace lingerie showing a colourful traditional-style floral tattoo on her lower back and side, with a cat on the sofa behind her.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Colour floral tattoo across a back and hip

Traditional · Back · Colour · Photo

A woman with long blonde hair is photographed from behind, wearing a white lace bra and matching knickers. A large tattoo covers her lower back and extends down the side toward the hip, with a rose-like flower in red, orange and yellow surrounded by green leaves and dark wing-like shapes. The bold black outlines and saturated fills sit against warm, soft-focus indoor lighting, with a cat and cream cushions in the background.

Traditional Back Thigh Rose Flower Leaves Wing Woman Cat

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nell Garside carried the canary cage down the lane every morning since her brother Tom started at Hollins Colliery, because her mother said the bird had earned a better walk than the one it got in the scullery. The lane ran past the tip, black and gritty, where nothing grew except coltsfoot and the odd stubborn bramble. She stopped at the gate of the Ormerod cottage, where old Mrs Ormerod kept a rose trained up the wall, the only red thing for half a mile.

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"It wants cutting back," Mrs Ormerod said, before Nell had said good morning. She had a pair of shears in one hand and a rag in the other, and her knuckles were grey with coal dust that never quite washed out of the creases. "Same as the men want cutting out of the seam, if you ask me." Nell laughed, the way you did, and set the cage on the wall. The canary shifted on its perch and turned its head toward the rose, and for a moment the two of them seemed to be having a conversation about the weather.

The men came up at shift change, and the whistle went at quarter to three, and the lane filled with the sound of boots. Tom came through the gate with his face washed pink at the edges. Nell saw that the rose's last bloom had opened overnight, orange at the heart and going yellow at the rim, and she thought of the lamps they carried down and the gas the canary was supposed to warn of. Nothing had gone wrong. Nothing ever did, until the day it did.

Mrs Ormerod snipped the dead head off and pressed it into Nell's palm. "Put that in his tea caddy," she said. "Then he'll know where the light's coming from when he's down there." Nell closed her fingers on the petals, still damp, and carried the cage home with the bird singing the whole way, bright as a struck match.